


Who's Been Lying In My Bed

by CourierNinetyTwo



Series: Goldilocks & The Three Dates (Modern AU) [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:32:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Weiss expects to wake up to is a hungover stranger on her couch. Modern AU: No Dust, no Grimm, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Been Lying In My Bed

Perhaps it was the fact that she had just finished working a seventy hour week, or that instead of a midnight snack, something possessed her to take half a sleeping pill with her glass of wine, but Weiss still wasn’t sure that either of those reasons were enough to explain why she had managed to stay unconscious through a woman somehow climbing through the window of her apartment and passing out on her couch.

The snoring, at the least, should have stirred her to wakefulness, much less the fact that said woman looked to be almost two hundred pounds of muscle and had to have made a racket knocking over the dying plant in her windowsill and collapsing backwards onto pristine leather cushions that had never beared more than the weight of her dainty frame. Weiss  _liked_  living alone; it meant everything was always where she had left it, that there was no one to judge her for spending an hour deciding her wardrobe for the day or curling up with a pint of triple chocolate in front of the flat screen set to the shopping channel.

She took a wary step closer, hoping the carpet would keep her footsteps quiet as she reached towards the mantle. The sword displayed atop it was a family heirloom of some sort, or so her father had said, back when the Schnee family used to actually own castles instead of getting elected to live in the governor’s mansion. It was heavy and unwieldy as she picked it up, but Weiss had never thought that she’d need to invest in a baseball bat or stun gun to deal with intruders when her apartment was one of the most expensive in the city.

Looking at the sword now, Weiss wasn’t even sure the blade was sharp, but it would have to do. She inched closer to the couch, brow knitting as she took in the details of the stranger. Blonde hair, absolutely wild as if it hadn’t been cut in years, obscured half the woman’s face, but it was clear from the uneven slant of her nose that it had been broken at least twice. From fights more than likely, why else would someone have shoulders sculpted into that hard diamond shape, abdominal muscles that could only be described as ‘washboard’ — what was the origin of that term, anyway — peeking out from beneath a tank top that looked like it would shred into pieces if she sat upright—

Weiss blushed all the way down to her collarbones, suddenly far too aware that she was only in an old college shirt and some underwear, wielding an old sword like it would somehow protect her from someone who could probably bench press a car. Calling the police came to mind, but her cell phone was back in her room, and the thought of putting her back to the couch at this point was rather unsettling.

She nearly shrieked when the woman’s mouth began to move, even if the initial syllables were gibberish, punctuated by a loud snort. “I’ve done more keg stands than any man, woman, or child, old man, don’t fucking test me—”

“What?” Weiss blinked, but the woman showed no signs of recognition, eyelids fluttering as if still in the depths of sleep. “Get up.”

When there was no response, she tapped the flat of the blade against one tanned leg, not wanting to risk jabbing with the tip. Self-defense statutes could be murky at best, especially when one was preemptively armed. “Get up!”

Lilac —  _lilac_ , they had to be contacts — eyes snapped open and Weiss tensed, stumbling a step backwards when the woman suddenly sat up, raising both hands up like a shield. “Woah.”

“Who are you?” Weiss put her other hand around the hilt, feeling her arms start to tremble.

There was a moment of silence, nothing but startled breaths from the couch, the rhythm of which made Weiss look firmly above the stranger’s neckline. She was most certainly not wearing a bra. “Is that a sword?”

“Yes, it’s a sword.” Weiss said, trying not to grimace. It was horrifically heavy, but she didn’t want to lose her one advantage against the hulk sitting across from her. “Now who are you and why are you in my apartment at,” she glanced at the clock up on the wall, “nine in the morning without an express invitation?”

“Your apartment?” Purple eyes flickered around the room, taking in the artfully arranged furniture, everything kept painstakingly clean. Weiss didn’t abide dust, just like she didn’t abide awful surprises on her days off. “Shit. I’m…I’m Yang. And you’re not a cute, very forgiving ex-girlfriend.”

“I most certainly am not.” Not some hooligan’s ex, anyway, Weiss amended mentally. “Yang. Do you happen to have a last name?”

“Yang Xiao Long, at your service.” The smile that followed was weak, but at least she didn’t seem hostile. “Can I put my arms down? My head’s really starting to spin.”

“You may.” Weiss didn’t truly want to allow it, but her arms were aching too, and she held back a sigh of relief as soon as the end of the sword touched against the carpet. How did anyone use these behemoths? “But if the next words out of your mouth aren’t an explanation for why you were sprawled across my couch, I will be calling the police.”

“I—” Yang’s hands dropped down to well-shaped thighs, bared by a pair of athletic shorts that were riding up rather high. “Well, I thought this was someone else’s place. Do you know Blake? She’s got black hair, slicked back usually, an unbelievable ass—”

“No.” Weiss cut off the description sharply. “I don’t know any Blake. I have the only apartment on this floor for a reason.”

“Damn, really?” Yang frowned, gaze drifting out to the open window. “I must have gone in the wrong side of the building, then. She always leaves hers open, the air conditioning’s busted half the time.”

“I live on the  _third_  floor.” Weiss insisted. “How did you get up here?”

“Fire escape, probably.” Muscle strained against the straps of Yang’s tank top as she shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t really remember anything after the end of my shift.”

“You have a job?” Weiss asked, unable to conceal her surprise. If she wasn’t mistaken, there were letters tattooed across Yang’s knuckles, and that was often a counterpoint to gainful employment.

“Yeah, I work at The Arena right next to Chinatown. Shares a wall with Ren’s twenty-four hour place? Only bar that has amateur prizefights on the weekends.” Yang smiled, sheepish. “I’m a bouncer. I fight sometimes too.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Looking down made it obvious that the sword was actually starting to gouge her carpet, which earned a groan of dismay before Weiss hauled the blade upright again, somehow managing to place it back on its stand. She turned back to face Yang in an instant, but the other woman hadn’t moved an inch from the couch. In fact, there was a slightly green tinge just below rounded cheekbones. “Are you alright?”

“I’m…I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with a tequila bottle and lost, to be honest.” Yang groaned, eyes closing as she put one calloused palm against her forehead. “I’m really sorry about climbing in your window. If I broke anything, I’ll find a way to pay for it.”

“Just a plant that was already in need of replacement.” Weiss gestured to the lacquered door to her left. “If you’re going to be sick, the bathroom is—”

“I’m going to be sick.” Yang said in a rush, standing up from the couch and disappearing behind the door with a speed that belied her size. Weiss cringed at the nauseating sounds that followed, grateful only for the fact that they seemed to be directed towards water and porcelain instead of the designer bath mat.

When she looked back at the couch, a vile curse slipped from Weiss’ mouth at the sight of a manila folder that had been bent entirely in half, the papers within scattered and crushed. Had she really thrown the Goodwitch file there last night instead of locking it away? Blaming sheer exhaustion didn’t help with the fact that Yang had apparently fallen asleep on a multi-million dollar contract with so many associated non-disclosure agreements it required its own cabinet.

Letting out an aggravated sigh, she knelt in front of the couch and tried to smooth over the worst of the wrinkles out of the papers, taking some very small comfort in the notion that these were her personal copies instead of the precious originals. Once they were rearranged inside the folder, Weiss carried the file over to her desk, undoing the combination of the safe under it by heart before stowing the paperwork inside, hoping that laying her emergency cashbox atop it would flatten out the bend until she could get everything digitized.

Part of her was still tempted to call the police, or at least make a call to a security firm to find out what plans they had to handle wayward drunks that could scale three stories of rickety steel scaffolding without the benefit of unlocking the fire escape ladder, but Yang’s pained groans had just ceased, and Weiss had to admit that if for some unholy reason she ever found herself that hungover, she would pray for someone to offer a bit of mercy. If nothing else, the apology had seemed entirely sincere.

Approaching the bathroom door, Weiss held her fist up to it before deciding not to knock. Her voice would be enough, hopefully. “There’s aspirin in the top cabinet. You can use the shower if you like.”

There was a cough, the sound of the sink being turned on. “Is there any way I can use your washing machine too? My top went down for the count.”

 _Lovely_ _._  “Did you get anything on the floor?”

“No, just me.” Pills rattled inside a bottle, followed by the snap of the safety cap. “Is this marble in here? You must be loaded.”

“I’m a lawyer.” Weiss said, some heat rising back up her face. She wasn’t that rich, really. “The head of Snow and Associates. We do corporate and contract work.”

“Does that make you Snow?” Yang asked.

There was no Snow. It was just a name, a title to separate her work from the fact that she was her father’s daughter. People inevitably chained her reputation to his, assuming that she carried his political views into private dealings, that the law was bent and twisted behind closed doors because how could so much money possibly be clean? Weiss had dotted every I and crossed every T since she had been in primary school, carried perfect grades and a sterling reputation all the way past her bar exam, but until changing the nameplates on the doors, putting herself just slightly at a distance from blood and family, the attention of the media had been relentless.

“It’s Weiss, actually. Weiss Schnee.” She said softly.

The pause that came after was so long, Weiss was briefly concerned that Yang had passed out again. “The governor’s kid?”

Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Yes. I’m that one.”

“I would really, really like not to go to prison, Weiss.” Yang’s laugh carried past the door, but there was no mirth in the sound. “I’ve been on parole before. It…it would be a second strike.”

“I’m not having you arrested.” Weiss leaned against the outside of the doorframe. “Although if this incident leads you to a life of sobriety, I’d rest a little easier when I go to sleep tonight.”

“Cold turkey it is. Consider me on ice.” Yang paused. “Um, can I pass you my clothes? I put the shorts on the outside, you won’t have to see anything gross.”

“Sure.” Weiss said. “There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door you can wear when you’re finished.”

When the door cracked open, she had meant to look up to preserve Yang’s modesty, but the other woman was so tall that looking up was just as dire as looking down. Even just a glimpse confirmed that if anything, the tank top had made Yang’s breasts seem _smaller_  than they really were, and that apparently having an eight-pack was an achievable goal for a human being. Weiss snatched the folded up clothes out of one large hand as quickly as she could, turning around to march towards the laundry room before she made a mistake and said something improper. Or worse, simply gaped with all the grace of a tourist at the local zoo.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t date. The service she signed up for last year had seemed rather promising, until a string of bad meetups — mostly due to a dire lack of chemistry — had ended with a date that was so utterly disastrous Weiss was halfway convinced she was being filmed for one of those shows where they pranked successful people trying to just live their lives. Alas, there was no sudden end to it, no flash of cameras, just Weiss sitting in the corner of one of the city’s premiere seafood restaurants watching a grown man eat the spaghetti and meatballs he had ordered off the children’s menu and discussing how grateful he’d been to his mother for letting him borrow the car.

When she had gone home in a somewhat soused fury and checked his profile, Weiss became convinced it was faked; there was no Blazing Arcs baseball team, and even if there had been, there was no possible way that he was the owner when just calculating the tip had made his head spin. An outraged call the next morning saw her fee for the matching service refunded, but in the six months that followed, Weiss had thrown herself into her work rather than seek outside company, arriving before her employees did and leaving long after they retired for the night. It was easier, truly. At least in the realms of hostile negotiations and triplicate, she was guaranteed success.

None of that excused the fact that she was currently leaning against her washing machine watching a stranger’s bright red underwear spin into a blur, nor that just seeing another naked human being had been enough to weave a coil of loneliness right inside her gut. If nothing else, Weiss missed intimacy, the way it felt to have someone else’s arms wrapped around her. She had meant to take a cruise a month earlier, relax under the sun and maybe meet someone, but a last minute-crisis with a client she didn’t care to lose saw those plans canceled, and Weiss hadn’t been able to find the energy to rearrange her schedule for a vacation in the future.

When the bathroom door opened again, she took a deep breath, composing herself before turning around to look. Even a dozen breaths wouldn’t have prepared her for the sight of Yang in her robe, because it most certainly didn’t fit. Where the black silk had brushed past her own knees, it stopped barely halfway down the other woman’s thighs, straining around broad shoulders and powerful arms so tightly the robe may as well have been a second skin. Technically, it had been closed, the belt tied with a loose knot, but the lapels didn’t come even close to overlapping, leaving a wide triangle of tan flesh visible from waist to throat, Yang’s cleavage stopping just short of violating obscenity laws. A few centimeters in either direction and—

Weiss coughed, quickly covering her mouth to mute the sound. “Are you feeling better?”

“A lot, thanks.” Yang pushed her mass of hair over one shoulder. Even wet, it had an impressive amount of volume. “I’m really sorry I just stumbled into your place, though. Can I make you breakfast or something?”  
  
“Make me—” Weiss couldn’t remember the last time she had breakfast that went beyond a protein-plus bagel and coffee; she didn’t have the time when she was working, and on days off, it was easier to sleep until noon and have a large lunch. “That sounds lovely, actually.”

“Which way’s the kitchen?” Yang asked, smile surprisingly bright despite the somewhat bloodshot state of both eyes. When pointed past the living room, she nodded and turned around, leaving Weiss’ throat dry at the sight of muscle flexing up the back of both calves, the hem of the robe stopping just below the curve of the other woman’s ass. “You know I could get you into the Arena for free too. No cover for people who know the bouncer.”

Weiss stiffened, dragging her eyes upward. “I don’t really go to bars. Or…prizefights.”

“Probably too busy, huh?” Yang stopped in front of the fridge and tugged the door open, paying no mind to Weiss slipping into the breakfast nook behind her. She stalled her embarrassment by wondering why she had ever paid for a kitchen with a ‘breakfast nook’ when this was the first time she could ever recall using it. The stool at the counter was comfortable, anyway.

“I don’t like drinking by myself.” Weiss admitted, averting her eyes from the half-empty bottle of pinot noir that was still set out from the night before. She didn’t like it, and yet she hadn’t done anything else for months. Pathetic.

“No boyfriend?” Yang asked, pulling out a stick of butter and putting it on the counter. It was still sealed; Weiss wasn’t even sure when she’d bought it, eyeing the date printed in blue ink with suspicion.

“No girlfriend either.” She said quietly, hoping that wasn’t too forward. What even qualified as flirtatious when she was talking to someone who had climbed into her apartment due to a drunken stupor and most certainly stretching out her favorite robe?

“Same. Seems like no one wants commitment these days.” Yang let out a sigh. “Do you really have no eggs?”

“I have eggs.” Weiss’ eyes narrowed. She had most certainly bought eggs at some point since the purchase of this apartment.

“Wait, I found ‘em.” Withdrawing a cardboard carton, Yang flipped it open. “Good thing I only need four.”

“What are you making?”

“I’m still figuring that out.” Yang said, taking out a few other ingredients before popping open the freezer. “Oh, sweet. Blueberries.”

Weiss’ brow knit. How long had those been there? “I have to admit, I’m curious as to what drove you to drink so much you climbed into someone else’s apartment instead of your own.”

There was a grimace then, but Weiss had to turn away when Yang bent down to reach for a pan in one of the bottom cabinets. “I guess I owe you that.”

She counted to ten before looking back at the other woman, who had thankfully stood up again and was fussing with the settings on the stove. “Just a bad night, really. There were some meatheads pushing a waitress around and I had to escort them out. Velvet’s a damn sweetheart, I don’t know what crawled up their asses. Then I found out someone was trying to spike a fighter’s drink to make sure they won a bet. My sister called and said she had to cancel her visit back here because of a case. A lot piled up at once.”

“A case?” Weiss asked. “Is she a lawyer?”  
  
“No, she’s a cop. Detective out west, does a lot of work with women and kids having a rough time.” Yang cracked all four eggs at once into a bowl, tossing the shells into the garbage can with an almost startling precision. “Long story short, I changed out of my work clothes and there were a couple leftover shots on the bar. I started there and eventually just grabbed the bottle. Then I woke up here.”

Weiss frowned. “Does that happen a lot?”

Yang let out a laugh, looking back over one shoulder. “No, I like to have fun, but I don’t usually go that far. I was drinking for the wrong reason and it bit me in the ass. My dad always said to avoid the sauce when you’re mad or down.”

“That’s good advice.” Weiss said, wishing she could dispel the wine bottle out of her line of sight by will alone.

It was somewhat of a marvel to watch Yang cook, if only because she seemed to have a knack for knowing where everything was. Weiss wouldn’t have had the first idea where she kept a spatula, much less remembered that there was a full bag of flour shoved into the depths of a cabinet; it had probably come from that ‘welcome home’ kit the realtor left, presuming she would use her refrigerator as more than magnet space for takeout menus. Yang was a natural, however, and the smell of melted butter and blueberries was making Weiss’ stomach growl.

“You mind if I put some coffee on?” Yang asked, holding up a sealed foil bag.

“Please do.” Weiss said, idly drumming her fingers against the countertop, searching for a topic of conversation. “What exactly does it say on your hands?”

“Oh, these?” Yang looked down at the characters inked in black across her knuckles, other hand occupied tipping coffee beans into the grinder. “It’s about family and stuff. The Chinese is shit, honestly. My dad paid for Mandarin lessons, but I was always a lot better at speaking it than writing. Maybe it’s because I’m only half.”

There was a weak smile at the end of the words, a flicker of vulnerability that Weiss recognized all too well. A subject to avoid, then. “Do you have any other tattoos?”

“Yeah, a ton.” Yang tapped the small of her back. “Got a rose here with an R in the middle. It was my first one.”

No matter how many ways Weiss tried to picture the design, that sounded rather terrible. “What does the R stand for?”

“Ruby, my sister’s name.” Brow knitting as she concentrated, Weiss watched Yang pour the batter that had been already stirred smooth into perfect circles inside the pan, each one chock full of blueberries. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“No, not at all.” Weiss said.

By the time a plate and steaming cup of coffee was set in front of her, Weiss felt starved, like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. The pancakes smelled heavenly, soaked with more butter than she would ever dare use herself, but she nearly moaned around the first bite. Her background in cooking was mostly relegated to anything that could be made with the assistance of a microwave or toaster, despite her father’s insistence that she learn. It was a becoming skill in a partner, he said, although this was the first time Weiss had ever seen reason to agree.

“These are wonderful.” Weiss took a sip of the coffee, eyes closing. It had been brewed strong and left black, just as she liked it.

“Yeah? Thanks.” Still standing with a plate balanced on one broad palm, Yang took a bite out of her own stack, nodding in apparent satisfaction. “Least I could do, really.”

Halfway through the pancakes, Weiss realized she had gone completely silent, albeit occupied with what might be the best breakfast she’d had in years. It was still rather rude, though. She looked over at the other woman, teeth tightening around the tines of her fork at the sight of Yang licking a drab of butter from one thumb. What should have been cringe-worthy was a lingering, terrible distraction; she really needed to get out with other people more. “So, do you…work out a lot?”

The question grated on her own ears.  _No, Schnee, she was born looking like an Olympian._ Her private self-flagellation was cut off by Yang’s wide smile. “My apartment’s right over a gym, so I can go whenever I want. Work puts me through the ringer too, if there’s a lot of guys running on more beer than sense. How about you?”

Weiss blinked. “Me?”

“You look like you’ve got to do something.” Yang shrugged.

“I…danced all through college.” Weiss frowned, pushing the last piece of a pancake around her plate before nibbling down the final bite. These days, she was lucky if there was time to catch twenty minutes on the treadmill to blow off some steam. “I don’t really have a routine anymore.”

“It happens. Seems like you’ve got plenty going on.” Yang held out a hand. “I’ll take your plate. Not going to cook for you and leave a stack of dishes.”

“I—there’s a dishwasher.” Weiss said, blushing a little. She wasn’t sure if there was soap, even as she handed over the sticky plate. “You don’t have to go to the trouble.”

The buzzer went off in the laundry room, drawing her attention. Rather than explain how her apartment was essentially a void where no domesticity entered, Weiss stepped past Yang out of the kitchen, glad to hear the sound of the sink turning on instead of a comment or question. Shifting the clothes to the dryer took only a moment before she turned the far dial on the right. Fifteen minutes and she could send Yang on her way, return to—whatever it was she had planned to do on her day off. Usually she ended up organizing her files or sending off emails, allowing music to fill the empty space from wall to wall.

Letting her feet guide her back to the kitchen by rote was a mistake, but Weiss only realized that when she found herself face first in Yang’s chest, the other woman’s quick grip of the counter the only thing that kept them both from tripping. Yang had to have been turning to dry her hands on the towel just near Weiss’ arm, which was logical, yet did nothing to prevent the fact that she had nearly headbutted Yang’s breasts. She knew she was short, by all accounts, but Weiss never left the house without a set of heels, and the chair in her office was pumped up to its highest setting, so it was rare to be so thoroughly confronted by her own height.

“I’m so sorry.” Yang looked sheepish, brushing a now-dry lock of blonde hair out of her face. “I was just going to sit on the couch while waiting for my clothes to finish up.”

“The couch?” Weiss blinked, eyes flickering from head to toe. Not in an untoward way; it was a simple analysis. She pulled open the drawer in the counter beside them both, searching its contents. “One moment.”

“What are you looking for?” Yang asked.

“Saran wrap.” Weiss said.

“What?”

Of course she had to explain. There couldn’t be a jump of logic from A to B that would allow her some remaining shreds of dignity. “That robe is  _very_  short on you and you’renot wearing any underwear and the leather is very expensive and—”

Yang let out a laugh as the pieces fell together. “I can just stand.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Weiss said, frowning. Where had she put the damn stuff?

“More ridiculous than you wrapping up the cushions of your couch in plastic?” Yang’s hand clasped over hers in the drawer and Weiss hesitated. The other woman’s palm was warm, enveloping her fingers completely. “You’ve already done me a solid today by not calling the cops. I’ll stand up.”

“Do you want to go out for lunch sometime?”

As soon as the words escaped, Weiss shut her mouth tightly, eyes widening in plaintive terror. That had not been what she’d meant to say, even if the thought somehow may have been lurking back in the furthest reaches of her mind, buried underneath important concepts like common sense and the stark disaster that was her prior romantic history. It only shared one word with  _let go of my hand_ , but that hadn’t stopped the faulty connection between her brain and tongue from blurting out the right series of words to make this situation as awkward as possible.

Yang blinked twice. “Like a date?”

“Yes, like a date.” Weiss grimaced, a tremble going through her before the rest poured out in a rush. “Despite my initial observations, you are incredibly attractive and I’ve never had someone cook for me that wasn’t paid to, and that breakfast was the first time in years I went more than ten minutes without thinking about my job or…a lot of other things.”

“Sure, I mean—” Yang hesitated, one blonde brow tensing.

“You’re not obligated to because of this morning.” Weiss cleared her throat quietly. “I think a stack of pancakes and somehow making my coffee perfect on the first try serves as equivalent exchange for the life of a woebegotten houseplant. We’re even.”

“I just added a dollop of cream to it. And I’d love to, but—” The other woman’s eyes swept around the kitchen, passing over marble countertops and stainless steel appliances, “—you’re like two steps out of my range. We’re talking little league to the pros, here. I barely make my rent half the time.”

As thoroughly humiliating as Weiss found it to have to stand up on her tip-toes to accomplish anything, the difference in their heights was vast enough that she simply had to, not to mention gaining a bit of leverage from the drawer. Her lips brushed Yang’s so briefly that an outside observer might not have even called the gesture a kiss, but it was close enough to make a point, she thought.

“If anything like that is ever going to occur in the future, I want to make it clear that I don’t let anyone decide what is beneath me, or better suited.” Weiss said, hoping her firm tone outweighed the color rising up her face. “I make those choices for myself.”

“Well, alright. It’s a date.”

Yang’s smile was broad and bright, offering only a second’s warning before the blonde’s head tilted down. Weiss barely stifled an ego-crushing squeak as their mouths met again, surprised not only by the contact, but by how easy it was to open up to it. Her lips parted against the heat of Yang’s tongue, free hand moving to grip one shoulder. The sharp delineation of muscle there would have been intimidating if it wasn’t so damnably distracting, trapped under the confines of her robe like steel under silk.

She gasped at the unwieldy sensation of being lifted, legs hanging helplessly in the air for a second or two before feeling the hard curve of the countertop underneath her hips. Yang’s hands were still there, fingers splayed across the pale band of skin above her panties and below the hem of her t-shirt, but didn’t presume to travel anywhere else, even as Weiss pulled at the lapel of the robe to prompt another kiss. It felt more like surrendering than participating at first, the tease of Yang’s tongue finally prompting her to react, tasting just a bit more—

“Woah there, tiger.” Yang withdrew just a few inches, fingers going to her lower lip where Weiss had just bitten. “You play rough, huh?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—” Weiss swallowed down the next words. It had just felt like the thing to do.

“Don’t be embarrassed. Just surprised me.” Yang shivered, and Weiss had to admit that she took some pride in prompting that. “We’re going a little fast, though.”

“A little.” Weiss felt a laugh bubble up in her chest and let it spill free. “I’ve never let anyone kiss me in my kitchen before.”

Yang’s hands slowly shifted from her hips to the counter, making it clear it was a deliberate choice instead of recoil. “Let’s save the biting for the first date.”

“The first?” Weiss raised a brow.

“Or you know, during.” Yang grinned. “There’s a killer Fujian place near my apartment. We’ll get you some  _geng_. It’s way better than my pancakes.”

Weiss wasn’t sure what either of those words meant, but it was the first time someone hadn’t expected her to make the arrangements. Most of her dates had been cowed the moment they realized who her father was, letting her lead them around by the nose. “I’m off tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ll actually have my wallet and my car tomorrow.” The blonde looked contemplative for a moment. “How about eleven on the dot?”

“Sure.” It was hard not to smile when Yang’s lit up the room. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“Yeah. In my locker at work.” The buzz of the dryer made them both jump. “Let me go get that and change.”

Weiss put a hand to her chest as Yang turned around, feeling her heart hammering against her fingers. The kiss had been like a shot of pure adrenaline, enough to wipe out logical thought, letting instinct override. As soon as she could breathe properly again, Weiss got down off the counter and plucked a page from the pad of paper near the fridge. She wrote her personal number out in careful strokes, not wanting to let lawyer’s scrawl blur it to illegibility.

When her shoulder was tapped, Weiss jumped, turning and holding up the paper like a ward. She immediately relaxed at the sight of Yang’s face, but having someone else in her apartment was still very strange. “This is my cell phone number. I always have it with me.”

Yang took the paper and carefully folded it in half before tucking it into the pocket of her shorts. “I’ll text you when I have my phone, but I should…probably get running. I work the night shift and I’m still six kinds of hungover.”

“Of course.” Weiss ignored the flutter of nervousness, the thought that Yang might not text at all. “How are you getting back?”

“Same way I got here.” Yang chuckled. “Can’t be that far of a walk if I made it plastered.”

“I’ll call you a taxi.” Weiss insisted.

“No.” The blonde shook her head. “You’ve got your pride and I’ve got mine. I can walk.”

As much as she wanted to argue, she respected Yang being stubborn enough to put her foot down. “Alright. Just ignore the doorman on the way out. He glares at anyone not wearing at least a grand in jewelry.”

“Cheers.” Yang leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Weiss’ temple. “Definitely worth the hangover.”

If she hadn’t been a healthy adult, Weiss might have been concerned that so much blood rushing to her face at once would cause a seizure, or at least some light-headedness. Thankfully neither ailment prevented her from the distinct pleasure of watching Yang turn around and leave; those shorts were most certainly a size too small.

As soon as the front door shut, Weiss sighed, deciding that some more caffeine was in order. She could read the paper and learn what was making the rest of the world spin; it would be better than pacing with her cell phone in hand. After retrieving it from her bedroom and the newspaper from the mail slot, she poured a fresh cup of coffee, noting that the cream had been left out. For years, she had never had it any other way but black, but just that little bit Yang had added made it warm and rich.

Halfway through an article on blue chip stocks, Weiss’ phone vibrated. She braced herself for it to be a message from someone at the firm, or one of those texts where you could press one and donate ten dollars to a charity, but as soon as she opened the little digital envelope, the sender was obvious.  _I’ll be outside at 11 tomorrow to take you out for a taste of China. Leave the sword, though. I don’t think they let you have those there._

Weiss added Yang to her contacts list with a couple taps, smiling so wide she thought something might break before sending a message back.

_Sounds perfect._


End file.
